chorus of muffled pigeons

voice the city

in the early awakening

as salty seagulls

over the white spume of the sea

and the pale sun smiles tired

at the human uproar

while a thin veil of smog

takes him away from us

skyscrapers as thick as gravestones

with tiny slots for breathing

rise up into the morning sky

inspired totems of the human work

a strong favour of fresh made bread

floods the passing people

mixed up with the poor food’s smell

in the woven alleys of the city

and while the cars’ rumbling

with rhythmic swashing

reminds me of the blue sea

the false seagulls swarm hungry

over the employers’ bald heads

looking for crumbs

and the sun even if deceived

goes on hugging us all

bravely to the end

until will have energy

before cooling down